


John Wayne Gacy Jr.

by Misterkingdom



Series: How Mercy Looks From Here [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Attempted Sexual Assault, Captivity, Daddy Issues, Earth-3, Imprisonment, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misterkingdom/pseuds/Misterkingdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce watched him with cold indifference. “You’re not Richard Grayson.”</p><p>Dick smirked against the rejection flooding his chest. “Well, you better get used to me. I’m the best you’re gonna get from now on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Wayne Gacy Jr.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a snippet from my failed mirror-verse fanfiction, 'How Mercy Looks from Here'. I'll be salvaging it for the parts I like and posting shards from it periodically. 
> 
> (The title is from 'John Wayne Gacy, Jr' by Sufjan Stevens. I wasn't inspired by the serial killer :/).

Dick’s sneakers stuck to the linoleum of the fast food joint. Harsh white lights blinded him. The smell of charred cow meat hung in the air. A thick layer of grease settled on his skin. He was being elbowed by a dude in lime crocks and a sweater vest while a redhead lady next to him yapped on her cellphone about business mergers. The place made his skin itch. It didn’t sit right with him. He debated bailing on his order before the wafer thin fast food slinger called out, “Jason?”

Dick shouldered his way through the crowd until he got to the counter. The attendant’s cracked nametag read Monique. She had dark skin and even darker hair. She worked double shifts even though she’s enrolled in Gotham Free High School. She’s usually dead on her feet by closing time, having to limp to her mother’s Camaro in the predawn hours. She’d gotten a scholarship for some swanky college in Metropolis.

He admired her bridled strength. The hard work she did to get herself out of this cesspool of a city. The admiration mutated into something destructive. Something parading as lust. In a Tim-ish move he’d shadowed her for days, learning her migration patterns. He revealed himself in the form of a potential employer. She didn’t fall for it.

Here they stood. Predator and prey. She couldn’t give him his Fatburger fast enough.

Dick dropped the spotty white bag on the broken nightstand next to the bat’s bed. “Dinner.” The man didn’t move a muscle. Dick pressed his thumb against Batman’s jugular. The steady thump, thump reassured him. He must’ve overdone it with the sedatives.

It was too early for patrol and too late for his shows. He slipped his jacket on the back of the plastic chair next to the bed before grabbing the flat soda. He drained it in the sink. The bat had too much drugs in him already. He yanked off his shoes and carefully placed them under the chair as to not wake the bat.

He had the same sculpted black hair Dick had only seen when he and Owlman were forced to play father and son for the Gotham Daily. The phantom warmth of Owlman’s arm on his shoulders as the camera exploded with flashes of light until Dick could see nothing but little bats flicker in the corner of his eyes. Owlman’s sharp cologne poked the inside of his nostrils. The itch of the sweater he was poured into. The adrenalin he got from masturbating in Owlman’s bed after.

The bat’s dark eyelashes fluttered against a nightmare. The light glow of sweat on his forehead mimicked the florescent. Batman’s lips parted for deeper breaths. Dick brought his hand up and traced the air just beyond Batman’s mouth. Dick got out of his chair and leant father to cup the side of Batman’s face that isn’t drenching the pillow. Batman twitched.

Dick swept his hand down the sharp curve of Bruce’s neck down to his heart and into the crevice between the bat’s peck.

It’s too damn easy to remember the pearls of water glistening on Owlman’s back under the white harsh lights in the shower. Dick had tracked him down for something or another—he couldn’t remember. He found Owlman standing under the suffocating spray, lost to the world as if in a trance. Dick should’ve turned around. Should’ve left. He stood spellbound in the spot. His eyes raked over every inch of the ugly, beautiful marred flesh of his master. He filed the images away for future jerk fantasies.

Owlman, frozen there—an effigy of modernistic art. Dick bit his lip against the electricity shooting up his spine. He’d never gotten the jump on Owlman. It gave him the kind of thrill lighting things on fire used to. It went straight to his cock. The idea of the man being so vulnerable. Seeing he’s just human—

Dick’s thumb dipped into the bat’s navel. His chest constricted at the tight sensation of the orifice. Another part of his body needed attention from a different orifice. He moved his thumb in and out of the bat’s navel in a lewd parody of the act. Dick’s brain worked overtime to a slideshow of the way Bruce would moan when Dick slid home. Bruce’s hiss when he would bit down on his jugular. The red thumbprints Dick would leave across his alabaster hips. The bruises he’d add to the mosaic of scars on the man’s body.

Dick hardened in his jeans. His hand was on his own belt before he knew it, trying to unbuckle it without taking his fingers away from Bruce’s warm body. His fingers snuck back up to the bat’s chapped lips. He slicked them up with the man’s own saliva. Dick bit back something harsh and gritty in his throat. He can’t get the buckle to—

Sharp pain twisted in his arm. He would’ve cried out if he wasn’t hip to getting his share of licks.

“You filthy degenerate.” Bruce said in a flat tone. Dick’s blood would be painting the drywall now if looks could kill. If the sedatives hadn’t made the bat less aggressive, Dick’s arm would’ve been broken in three places.

“What?  Your wonder bird probably gets off to you just like this.” Dick smiled wide enough to showcase his missing molar. The bat growled low in his throat until it turned into a groan. His fingers slipped off Dick’s wrist. Dick hid his hand behind his back and rubbed it.

The bat fell against his pillow. Dick watched him, calculating the next dosage of drugs. Batman’s skin is pallor. His hair stuck to his forehead.

“I got dinner.” Dick said. His stomach knotted with something akin to guilt. The bat doesn’t register he’s there. “You need to eat.” Dick opened the bag and took out the dripping burger. “The, uh, medicine I gave you fucks with the line of your stomach if you don’t eat afterwards.”

Batman took the burger. Dick thinks he did it so he would leave him alone.

Dick went to the bathroom and filled a cup with tap water. He went back to the bedroom to find Batman eyeing him. Dick stared back until it dawned on him what the bat was looking at.

The red ring around his neck Owlman left him.

“He did that to you.” Bruce said. Dick’s stomach dropped in fear. He’d shown his hand. The bat could use this against him.

Dick smirked and held out the cup to the bat. “I like him to smack me around in the boudoir, you know?”

The lines around Batman’s mouth crinkled. The bat took the cup and drained it. He placed it on the nightstand afterward. If Dick didn’t know any better, he looked like he was going to puke.

Dick smirked again. “We’ve been fucking ever since I was twelve—“

“I know you’re lying.”

“How so?”

“Dick used to—“Batman rubbed his temple in an effort in frustration. Dick should’ve watched the dosage he gave him. “Every person has a tick. No one’s exempt.”

“What were you going to say about Dick?”

“He lies with a grin on his face.”

Dick’s smile dropped. He’s too transparent. He drummed his finger on the arm of the chair. “How alike are we?”

“Does it matter?” Bruce turned carefully to avoid the oil slicked bag of mostly lettuce. He put it on the unsure counter. He watched Dick with blue ink rubbed under his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his chin. Dick doesn’t let the knife of guilt stick in his stomach for too long.

“You’re not like Owlman.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Sure I can.” Dick smiled against the uneasiness. “I’ve watched you. This is like, your third trip to our humble universe.” Batman’s face has the same blank Owlman uses when he wants Dick to get to the point. “You don’t leave a man behind, even when they’re slowing you down. Your sons—“

 “You’re not like Robin.”

“Isn’t he Nightwing now? Can’t you let little man grow up?”

Bruce watched him with cold indifference. “You’re not Richard Grayson.”

Dick smirked against the rejection flooding his chest. “Well, you better get used to me. I’m the best you’re gonna get from now on.”


End file.
